


Ho, Ho, Ho!

by Omnicat



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:09:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicat/pseuds/Omnicat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>H has drawn the shortest straw once again. He must now execute J's evil, charitable Christmas schemes and visit six households before daybreak in order to save his own behind. See how this lab–potato with no sense of direction fares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winner Residence

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Nederlands available: [Ho Ho Ho!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9031874) by [CattyRosea (Omnicat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicat/pseuds/CattyRosea)



Huf-puf, huf-puf, huf-puf. Cough, cough.

_Master Winner, clean your ventilation shafts once in a while!_

Shuffleshuffle.

_Is this it?_

Clink-clink, scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, ting, CRASH!

_Oopsy... guess not._

Quick shuffleshuffle. Click. Crinkle-crunch.

_What use is a map when the house doesn’t stick to it? If you gave me the wrong blueprints, you’re paying for the dry-cleaning, mister!_

_That was the kitchen, so the main living room must be... Unless they don’t have it there... No, don’t go making it any more complicated here. Just do it, you don’t have all night. Still got the Sank Palace to go. Yuy territory._

Shudder.

_Hey-ho, let’s go._

Shuffleshuffle, huf-puf, huf-puf.

_Ah, finally... And a-one, and a-two, and a-three, TIMBER!_

Woooooossssshhhhh-RIP.

_Uh oh._

Rrr-rrr-ri-CRASH!

“Oooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuccccchhhhhhh...”

“Freeze, mister!”

_Eh... That’ll be a bit hard, lassie. Someone forgot to put the fire out here._

He looked up from his painfully distorted position in the fireplace into the pale moonlight. Two young, fair haired girls in nightgowns stared at him wide-eyed. One of them held a poker as if wielding a sword.

“Daddy, daddy!” the other started yelling in a shrill, piercing voice. “Daddy, a fat burglar in a funny red disguise just fell down the chimney!”

A third blond - for that was all the girls’ hair colour, the burglar knew - girl stormed in from the direction of the kitchen, brandishing a skewer and a wooden spoon. Her pointed eyebrows were drawn together in a spiky ‘V’ shape across her pale, determined face.

“DADDYYYYY!” the second girl screeched.

And of course, footsteps came thundering down the stairs right away, and Quatre Winner appeared, a gun pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face. Dorothy followed one step behind, silk nightgown giving a much better illustration of the family’s wealth than Quatre’s plain old shirt and boxers, though her firearm was much the same as her spouse’s; simple and effective.

And pointed unwaveringly at the fat burglar in the funny disguise’s face.

The Winner patriarch assessed the situation in less than a glance and flicked on the lights, his stance relaxing. He stalked over to the incapacitated burglar while he soothed his daughter.

“No need to worry, Dritten. This man wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

_Like hell I would, with those things pointed at me!_

Quatre mussed the girl’s hair in passing. “Go to your mother. Twey, put that back where it came from. Prima, drop the cutlery! And what did I tell you about trying to catch Santa Claus?”

“Don’t even try?”

“Not gonna work?”

“We have school in the morning?”

“The security system will go haywire if we fool around with it?”

“Mother won’t be pleased when she finds out we’re using her handcuffs?”

“Like we care?”

“Remind me not to let you play with Solo and Hell’s Twins anymore.”

The three eldest Winner daughters exchanged smirks. _Go right ahead and try, Daddy,_ these expressions said. _It’s mostly Triton Bloom Jr. teaching us, anyway._

The ex-Gundam pilot, as he was known and would be known to those who knew to damn eternity, exchanged looks with the intruder and raked a hand through his blond hair, which hid the silver of premature age so well. He heaved an amused sigh turned yawn and wisely decided not to react.

“So sir, were you trying to play Santa again?” he asked, mildly chiding, while he stuffed the gun in his waistband.

The intruder flashed a broad grin, causing a small cloud of white powder to rise from his moustache. “You obviously still haven’t lost your marbles, my boy. Too bad, I had a new set for you, right - er, somewhere around here, at least. So much for my attempt at Santa Clausery...” he mumbled, looking at all the presents strewn around him, then up to where the gunny bag dangled from a protuberant metal edge. By now, a small horde of young blond, blue-eyed girls, some sporting their mother’s tweezer-like eyebrows, had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sanna!” one toothless specimen exclaimed enthusiastically. The whole bundle of limbs, pigtails and nightgowns came tumbling into the living room area squealing and cheering, and Dorothy was only barely able to hold them all back.

 _Wow, she won’t let them trample me. How considerate of her._ The burglar Santa laughed and patted his red-clad belly. “Hullo girls, long time no see. Octavia, is that you, dear? My, I almost didn’t recognize you, that’s how much you’ve grown!”

The young mob gawked. “Uncle/Unca/Unc/Uncie/Aunt H?” it chorused.

“Merry Christmas!” H said cheerily, waving a mittened hand at an awkward angle. He was well aware of how he must look, clad in a soot sprinkled red Santa Claus suit, his greying moustache powdered to a pure white, fake beard sagging, hat askew - not to mention lying virtually upside down in a position a Galactic Games gymnast would have envied him for, if not for the smouldering embers underneath him. No wonder the girls’ jaws unanimously went slack. “Would you help me up now, Quatre? My ass is beginning to get quite scorched.”

One of the girls congregated around Dorothy, whose gun had miraculously disappeared around the time her younger children had arrived, gasped and whispered in shock - or was that awe: “He said bad word! He said assss!”

“Old loons saying it doesn’t make it okay for you to say it, Quinty.” Dorothy reprimanded mechanically, not bothering to suppress a yawn. No action? Then Dorothy Winner-Catalonia would like to resume her beauty sleep, thank you.

“Serves you right, sir, for swearing in front of the children.” Quatre said, while his old instructor grabbed his outstretched hand.

“Thank you, my boy.” H beat the smouldering patch on his behind feverishly.

“When will you stop calling me boy, sir? I’m getting as grey as you are by now. By the way, how did you get the blueprints and codes for the house?”

“What blueprints?” H asked innocently.

“These.” Quatre held up the crumpled papers, grinning like a Maxwell. “It was doctor J, wasn’t it? And he stole them from Heero.”

H chuckled. “I’ll admit J has enough wiring in him - the amount in his brains alone would put that Christmas tree of yours to shame - to keep him sharp for another couple of decades. But no. It was young Odin. Who by the way is waiting for me as we speak, so if I’d just...” H poked his hat and soot-covered head in the chimney canal, careful not to step on the newly blazing embers again. The aging but seemingly indestructible scientist continued speaking with a hollow, metallic echo. “- get this rot- er, perfectly ordinary thing down, I’ll be on my way. I already covered the Changs and the Blooms and the Maxwells. Those last were tricky, I tell you. Someone - I won’t automatically blame the kids for something their parents could have just as easily done - decided it was funny to booby-trap the milk and cookies. Well have I ever! A fisher’s net on my head, now that’s what I call -”

Quatre and Dorothy exchanged amused glances. Some of the girls were beginning to nod off where they stood, others, though silent as of yet, looked confused or seemed to be on their way to a bawl or tantrum. Quatre motioned for his wife to take them back to bed while he helped H collect his things, accepted the Gundam developers’ gifts and got the older man off to safety and a well earned rest. While he bent down to pick up the scattered presents, however, he failed to notice the sly grin forming on Dorothy’s face.

“- I’m saving the Yuys for last.” H said presently. “That’ll be one helluva job, even with Odin’s help, and I’d rather have my sack - come down here, you dam- dam _sel_ thing - I’d rather have my sack light when I venture that terrain.”

“Mister H, I must say I think it’s a wonderful thing you and the other oldies do every year,” Dorothy cut in as H took a deep breath and pulled with all his might. Quatre froze in his crouched position. That sounded too polite and respectful to be true. “but do you realise Santa Claus almost passed us over last year because you had used his chimney?”

Now the entire scene froze. Quatre held his breath.

“What?” one of girls around Dorothy said menacingly.

All blond heads turned to H, who slowly removed himself from the hearth, careful to avoid any sudden movements. Something predatory sparked in the young eyes. H tried his special moustache-twitching grin. No dice.

“Get him!” a girl cried, and a wave of small blonds washed over the poor, fat burglar Santa in his funny red disguise. Quatre was only barely able to dive out of the way.

“Argh!” H managed to break free, only to have the troupe chasing after him into the dining room. “Ho, ho, ho! No girls, stop, I -”

Quatre scrambled up and started after them, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Dorothy, I must help him! They’ll tear the poor man apart!“Not until I have a picture of this scene. We’re going to send out the best home-made Christmas cards ever, this year!”


	2. Hilde’s Scrapyard and the Maxwell Maze

_Hilde’s Scrapyard_

_(and Duo and Solo and Hell’s Twins’)_

it said at the gate.

The big, heavy, iron, _closed_ gate. Fastened with one ordinary lock, one thick metal chain, and one dog leash. There was no other use for the leash, because the family living in the house beyond this gate did not have a dog.

H knew, as he observed the gate in the scant moonlight of late evening/early night, that he would have no trouble in getting it to open. The gunny sack slung over his shoulder held not only his mission objectives, but also lock picks, lists of security codes and everything else needed for a dozen types of breaking and entering in two dozen types of buildings and facilities. Who knew what kind of security Yuy would have put up this year...

But H also knew, as he observed that gate, so easy to conquer, that doing just that might be tempting - for beyond that lonely barrier lay a clear, straight and _easy_ path to his destination - but not wise in the least. Because the Maxwells might not have a dog, nor a cat, this was only because they _did_ have motion-sensitive cameras set up all across their scrap strewn yard.

_Dratted Maxwells._ H groused mentally, as he trudged around the fence to the secret entrance his informant had so dutifully informed him of, while wet spoilsport snow began drizzling down on his hat and the chilly wind pierced his disguise. At least both Bloom families had made it a little easy for an old man. Admitted, trailers were hard to fortify, but it was the thought that counted here. S’s boy - however he wanted to be called this year - and his sister had given him no trouble whatsoever. The lad had only blinked sleepily at him in the dark, making H jump when he mumbled: “Say hi to Doctor S for me.” before draping his arm more comfortably around his sleeping wife and drifting off to sleep again.

H had the feeling, however, that he would be wishing for the ease with which he would cover the Chang household later that night before he was halfway through the Maxwell Maze. Wufei had come right up to Master O and demanded to know what they were planning this year in advance, pissing Sally of for ruining the surprise, but bringing great relieve to H.

He squeezed through a narrow gap in the fence and looked around for the nearest sensors. When he had determined the position and range of these, he did as his informant had recommended; he slithered. Among scrap, along scrap, under scrap, over scrap, through scrap, around scrap, with scrap - huh? H quickly pulled the plug before the rickety linoleum-polishing machine could hobble into camera range and set of the alarm. He crawled and climbed and bended every which way to dodge the mechanical eyes, silently thanking his informant for being the disobedient, adventurous, rebellious, prankster-son-from-Hell the kid was. If not for his many midnight visits to the disobedient, adventurous, rebellious, prankster-son-from-Hell Hilde and Duo had spawned, H would not be planning his suicide at the moment; he could have counted on J to spare him from the terrible aches the following morning promised to bring, for screwing the mission up completely.

He once caught a glimpse of the path leading to the front door of the house. Moonlight streamed over its smooth, scrap-free surface as it lay there, straight and direct - and in full view of the camera above the front door. Biting the tip of his moustache (and spitting it right back out when he tasted the white powder in it) to resist the temptation, he grabbed hold of a corroded washing machine and climbed over it. The Maxwells must not get to know of his actions. The mission had to remain top secret.

Finally, after what seemed like miles of treacherous scrap and lurking, stalking cameras, he came to the kitchen window. H had been informed that the lady of the house never locked this particular window, making it the perfect entrance for someone like him. The fact that there was a swivelling camera sitting on the corner of the house, overlooking the patch of grass substituting as the Maxwell's backyard as well as the entire kitchen wall, was, in J's words, just a minor obstacle. Dispose of it or go around it. Neither possibility applied here, however.

With a swift dive and a somersault, he imbedded himself in between the wall and an overgrown currant bush. Then, after studying the rhythm of the camera’s movement, he hoisted himself up to fumble with the window. H dropped down again when the eye swivelled back to him. After a few of these manoeuvres, the window swung open, and in the next clearance, H took a run and jumped ‘gracefully’ inside.

_Phase one completed._ H thought, as he lay still and listened for any indication of movement inside the house. None. He scrambled up, checked his sack, and stealthily made his way through the cosy house.

He never noticed the pairs of wide eyes in various shades of blue gleaming gleefully in the dark.

Christmas decorations loomed from all sorts of horizontal and vertical surfaces, out of every corner and crevice. A sleigh with reindeers leaping in front of it almost knocked into the side of H’s head when he passed it. He caught a glimpse of the gleaming wire used to attach it as it swung over his crouched form. _Oy, better watch my step. Seems someone’s been sloppy._

His target wasn’t in the living room. Nor in the hall, the dining room or the kitchen, which he returned to to make sure he hadn’t missed it while dodging the increasing amounts of strange projectiles.

_Damn. I’ll have to go upstairs then._ H thought.

Why couldn’t those infernal Maxwells put their Christmas tree near the fireplace, like everyone else? And why couldn’t they fasten their decorations better? This was getting absurd. By the time he came to the top of the stairs, H had tripped over a festoon lying about where it definitely shouldn’t, he’d been bombarded with various Christmas tree ornaments - multiple times - and three miniature Santa’s had declared war on him and lunged for his head or groin. And the ornaments did not just attack him once; he could swear to be only barely missed by the same pair of Christmas bells twice, both on his way to and from the kitchen.

The feeling that he was deliberately targeted grew stronger by the minute, and the hairs in his neck stood on end as he crept along the landing. This feeling was confirmed once he had passed the family’s bedroom doors, which he dared not open to check if maybe they had his destination set up there, and reached for the handle of the small office at the end of the hall.

All was well until he turned it. A thin scratching sound was heard, and then a rustle. H slowly looked up at the garland draped over the top of every door, winding its way along the entire landing on both sides. There were small bows and lights woven through the synthetic branches, but the latter had been turned off for the night.

_Had_ been.

They were lighting up around H, now. All around him, but nowhere else in the entire hall.

He cautiously slackened and released the handle and stepped back. The faint scrunching sound increased as a second socket seemed to arise next to every flame-shaped bulb. H saw a thin, gleaming streak emit from the new socket and felt his stomach sink to the soles of his ridiculously shiny boots.

_Oh please Author don’t let it be..._ *

Not about to find out whether his suspicions where correct by undergoing the effects, he made a mad dash out of shooting-range.

Bad move. The double lamps followed his movement and, with a pop and a sleek _swish_ sound, did exactly as he had feared. Needles adorned with red feathers plunged into the material of his gunny sack as he sped back to the staircase. The lights followed him, glowing into life now everywhere he passed.

_Dratted Maxwells!_

H had already reached the stairs when he realised his mistake. Looking back, he saw needles gleaming all along his fated path, ready to be released at a single movement. If only he had just stepped into the room he had to be in when he had the chance! Now he’d have to face the pointiness of the garlands’ projectiles. Damnit, damnit damnit.

_Dratted Maxwells!_

The scientist felt a strong urge just give up. His mission wasn’t worth all this trouble. There where three houses still to go, it wouldn’t do to succumb to this one.

But then he remembered the glint in J’s bionic eyes. When he wasn’t forcing his old joints to climb piles of scrap, he felt a strangely powerful sense of self-preservation. Even though he knew he’d feel like the best masseur in Hell had given him a massage when he woke up tomorrow.

So, with an adamant straightening of his shoulders and a deep breath, H began to empty his sack. He tucked his equipment and mission objectives into his pockets, his coat, and in the end in his pants as well, because it simply wouldn’t fit anymore. Quatre and Dorothy Winner had _a lot_ of daughters, and Wufei and Sally had been busy as well. H fastened one particularly fragile object under the waistband of his shorts on his hip and pulled the sack over his head.

Then he charged headfirst into the hail of feathered needles.

Sharp pinpricks hit the jute with audible _peck_ s as he raced - quietly - for the estimate location of the desired door. Once he reached it and shot inside the room beyond, he thanked the Maxwells for leaving the door unlocked. It felt weird though, so he quickly stopped being grateful to the ones who’s fault it was that he was having such a hard, and not to say weird, time, in the first place.

He pulled the sack off of him and looked around the room.

Not there.

_Dratted Maxwells!_

So H pulled his sack over his head once more and prepared to cross the hall to the children’s play-room, aka the Maxwell Junior Battle Zone. He just hoped the gunny bag wouldn’t wear through too fast.

It wasn’t in the play-room either. H wished he had brought something with him with whom he could cause the Maxwells to suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer, while he recovered from this night with lots if coddling from beautiful women. But all the dangerous stuff he had on him were meant to be saved for the Yuy household.

That left only the attic. The bedrooms he didn’t even want to think about. So with one more deep sigh he prepared himself for another trip through Needle Alley. It surprised him somewhere in the back of his mind that none of the inhabitants had woken up yet. His rush for the next staircase was noisy enough, in his own ears. But finally he got to the top floor of the house, and lo! there was the soft, unmistakable glow of Christmas-lights streaming through the cracks of the door.

H opened the door eagerly - and found the Maxwells’ final trick. All the floorboards had been removed, except for the ones in the far corner, where the Christmas tree stood in all its glittering splendour. To get there, H would have to balance his way over the beams that usually supported the floorboards.

_Mission, J, life, mission, J, life, mission, J, life, mission, J, life mission, J, life_ \- H chanted mentally, barely able to contain the bestial roar forming in his throat.

He dropped his empty sack. The roar subsided and left him with a disconcertingly empty feeling. He raised his foot and leaned forward.

_Thump._ Hit the beam.

Raise the other foot. Lean.

_Thump._ Hit that beam too.

_Thump, thump, thump, thump._

_Creak._ Huh?

H looked down. He’d made it! The old man dropped down to his knees and almost cried in relief. Then he looked up sharply. No more traps? He could never be sure. He didn’t see any... Didn’t hear any either...

Finally deciding it was safe to get up, he did. His target stood before him. Festoons and ornaments in various shades of blue and purple adorned the synthetic branches of the tree, multicoloured lights threw sparkles over the shining surfaces.

H dug around in his pants to find the presents he was supposed to leave here. Having found them, he kneeled down and arranged them somewhat neatly. He turned the idea to leave a little explosive surprise after all over in his head, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

A low table to the side caught his eye as he straightened. Milk, cookies and a small note scribbled full with a child’s handwriting were placed on it. Aw...

H was touched. He picked up the plate holding the cookies.

A net fell on him and dragged him to the ground.

_DRATTED MAXWELL DEMONS!_

He struggled against the net and managed to throw it off. The plate had clattered to the ground, but H couldn’t care less. He sprinted carelessly across the beams, an explosion of indiscernible emotions propelling him forward. He passed the needle-garland so fast that the projectiles whirled around in his wake. The decorations downstairs were shredded to pieces when they came into contact with his body.

As he stumbled his way through the garden and scrapyard at breakneck speed, he mysteriously managed to storm past right in front of at least half a dozen camera’s without setting off the alarm.

Mysteriously, that is, if you did not know that half the amount of those cameras were plastic fakes to replace the ones installed indoors for the night’s occasion, and the other half disconnected from the alarm-system, left to only record _the_ tape to watch on parties for the next few years.


	3. Sank Royal Palace

The palace was dark and deserted. Of course, one would not expect buzzing activity in the wee hours of night. In this palace, however, with the king-spouse as - to put it bluntly - paranoid as he was, such quiet could only be the result of sabotage. And H was on his way to the saboteur(s) right now. He owed him - most probably _them_ \- a favour the size of a colony.

Rendezvous point had been decided on the Peacecraft family’s personal quarters, third room to the left of the dining room - or was that the library? It was a good thing security was so low in the entire building, because H would have collected quite the string of guards-on-his-tail if there had been any, wandering around like a sense-of-direction-deprived tourist like he did. He didn’t think he could have handled another ‘adventure’ tonight.

He found the Peacecraft-Yuy quarters easily enough. The Peacecraft-Noin quarters had to be adjacent to those to the north. No, south. Er, west. No, east, apparently. He wasn’t going to get lost in the very last house, was he? What did royalty need such ridiculously large houses for anyway?

He popped his head around yet another doorpost. Ah, there they were.

H smiled as he stole into the parlour. The light of a softly crackling fire illuminated the forms of the Yuy-Peacecraft and Peacecraft-Noin children. Teens. Whatever, they were all young, and they always would be, to him. And since when did he bother calling anyone anything else than ‘boy’ or ‘lass’?

Odin Yuy, a boy in his early teens who bore a striking resemblance to his father, except for the neat brown-blond hair, was slumped in an armchair to an almost vertical position. Sprawled over the loveseat across from him was Zechs Peacecraft, who liked to pretend he really was almost an adult. His platinum blond hair covered almost all of his face now that his head was tilted so sharply to the side, and the locks wafted on his deep, rumbling snores. Another boy, aged somewhere between his lighter haired brother and cousin, lay curled up on the rug, his back to the fire.

The only one still awake - though just barely - was both the youngest of the group and the only girl. Her thick chocolate hair was pulled into two tiny pigtails, which gave H cold chills for a moment as they reminded him of their blond counterparts, whom he had faced not an hour ago. Katie sat between her brother’s sprawled legs, staring into the fire with glossy eyes.

H stood there for a while, just looking at them. Children could seem so innocent when sleep was chaperoning and their fiendish minds weren’t busy scheming. These four were the perfect example.

Katie’s small hand absently reached out to the plate of cookie-crumbles sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She didn’t seem to realise she was groping in thin air until she incidentally knocked over an empty glass, that had once contained milk. Her big, inky blue eyes blinked into focus and she looked up at H in surprise.

“Uncle H?”

“Hi there, sweetie.” He ruffled the girl’s already wild hair. She smiled widely and jumped up to hug him.

“Uncle H, you did it!”

_You didn’t think I would?_ H thought upon hearing her tone of voice.

“Odin, Odin, wake up! Uncle H is here. Zechs, Sieben, Uncle H made it through!”

The boys stirred and awoke. Well, two of them, at least. Sieben just mumbled something and stuck a thumb in his mouth. Odin grumbled and tried to shake his sister’s hands off. Too bad there was no way to turn the sound off. H cast skittish a glance around the room, expecting Heero Yuy or Milliardo Peacecraft to pop up any second, mood best not to be thought of. Zechs rolled off the couch and was awake faster than Katie’s shrill voice could have ever achieved.

“Hey, Harry old chap. You look pretty intact.” Zechs said drowsily.

_If you say so, lad._ H thought sourly. Zechs yawned and stretched, before sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “How’d it go?”

“Better than it would have without Odin’s help.” H answered neutrally. He didn’t think what he had to say was suitable for these children. They might just get inspired.

Odin grinned a cocky, albeit sleepy, grin. “No surprise there.”

“C’mon, Horace, we wanna hear your story.” Zechs urged. He prodded his sleeping brother with his slipper. “Oy, wake up. We need your ‘charm’ here, Sieb. Hillbilly won’t spill.”

“No, no! No need to turn the boy’s Charm on me!” H said, thoroughly frightened. And with good reason. Sieben Peacecraft’s ‘charm’ was no trifle matter. He cast a weary glance at the grouchy boy, who brushed his dark, longish hair out of his face along with his brother’s foot. “I’ll tell you about it, no problem.”

Zechs beamed at him pointedly. “Good.”

Despite the feeling that he was like a puppet in these children’s hands - or maybe because of it - H shooed Zechs away to make room for himself on the couch and _finally_ sat down. He took plenty time to put down his now nearly empty gunny bag, tear off his boots, accept a remainder of milk, and lastly, hesitantly, take off his hat.

The result was as expected. One collective gasp, followed by a short, stunned silence, and huge bellows of laughter. H couldn’t see the humour in it. He couldn’t help how the Maganacs where used to apply a head bandage. Turban style...

“What happened to your head, Instructor?” Sieben, now wide and eagerly awake, gasped.

“Diana Winner.” H whispered flatly. A shudder shook his pudgy form as he remembered how Dorothy had pulled her tweezer-browed daughter into a hug and cooed over the grinning little girl, praising her and saying she had made Mommy so very proud. At least the father had had the decency to be angry over such use of the family’s priceless ancient silver candlesticks.

“O dear.” Katie said. She looked up at H, her eyes full of concern. “Should I play cute with Grandpa, Uncle H?”

H smiled. Whatever deity it was that had made Heero Yuy’s daughter such an angel, despite her father’s devilish looks, was to be praised. “No need, my dear. Uncle Quatre and Aunt Dorothy promised to keep it a secret from J.”

“Just like last year, huh?” Zechs asked, smirking now that his breath couldn’t supply for guffaws anymore.

“Yes.” the old man sighed, half relieved, half amused. Little did H know of the cards being printed at that very moment, which would circulate the entire Earth Sphere the following morning, and the footage that would pop up on parties and get-togethers and bring tears of mirth to even the most sober eyes for years to come. “I take it, seeing as how terribly _loud_ you lot are being _despite my headache_ , that we needn’t worry about getting caught here?”

“Nope. Father and Uncle Milliardo were drugged at dinner and won’t be coming down any time tonight.” Odin said smugly. “After Mother had brought Father upstairs I hacked into the security programme and changed the night shifts. All of the regular security personnel think they’ve gotten a surprise night off and that someone else has taken over their shifts. And the burglar alarm was almost too simple to deactivate.”

“Easy.” Zechs concluded.

“I didn’t see _you_ do anything but stare at the screen stupidly while _I_ was working my ass of to dodge Father’s tracker systems, though.” Odin said sharply. Zechs turned a faint shade of red and gained an eerie resemblance to his father upon hearing his cousin’s tone of voice.

H cut in before another one of the infamous hereditary 01/06 quarrels could break out. “I thought you wanted to hear about my night?”

“Yes, we would very much like to, Uncle H.” Katie said, with an edge to her voice that brought the boys back from the way to bloodshed immediately. O yes, she definitely took after her mother. She smiled sweetly at them before turning her attention back to H. “Well, sir?”

H sighed. “Yes... well...”

H was a coward. He knew that very well. He liked his behind the way it was, pudgy and all. And around these kids, he didn’t blame himself one bit. They were the next generation of Doctor Js...

“Well... nothing much happened, really.” He saw the faces drop dangerously, and his resolution-of-steel to tell them absolutely nothing, so they would not be able to spread his humiliation any further, changed course dramatically. Boy was he traumatised by now. He continued hastily: “Most of the time, that is. I started off with the Blooms, as they have alighted nearest to my own home. No problems whatsoever, there. Everyone in the camp was asleep. The only setback was the cold when I was looking for Aunt Catherine’s and Uncle Tri- Tro- T-you-know-the-guy, their trailers.

Then came the Maxwells.

I don’t think I will need to elaborate on this, however, as your friend Solo will undoubtedly tell you all about the little traps laid out in there before long.” H gave Odin a penetrating look, which was met with the calm of someone who has grown up with much better. “But I would like to find out who was responsible.”

“I’m not going to tell on Solo, or his sisters, or his parents for that matter, Uncle H.” Odin said. “Not even if you tell our parents about what we did tonight.”

_Damn the kid’s righteousness. No, wait. Maybe like that I can get him to -_

“Solo telling on you is another thing altogether, though.” the boy mused.

_Damn just the kid._

Sieben and Zechs exchanged looks. “I think we’ll leave this part to Solo and Hell’s Twins, indeed.” Zechs said. “Bet they’d tell it a lot better than Hayden here ever would.”

“I’m not taking up on a losing bet.” Sieben warned.

“No need to, no need at all, brother dear. Pagan will.” Zechs chuckled evilly.

H sighed and resolved to leave the man a warning note before leaving. “Fine, fine. I won’t stop you. I don’t have the energy left to do anything else but stumble home after this.

At that moment, I thought it was a good thing I was able to blow off some steam at the Chang residence.”

“Huh?” Sieben looked confused. “But I thought the whole reason you asked Odin for help was because you had to keep a low profile.”

“Wufei’s a sour puss.” Odin said. “He wanted to know beforehand. Doesn’t like surprises. Remember what happened last Halloween?”

“Oh, yeah.” the kids replied in unison.

H did too, and he was glad it had been Master O then. “Yes. Little Meiran was certainly impressed when I punched her father’s sandbag off its chain and through the paper wall. Though I bet you can imagine Wufei himself was less pleased.” A small round of laughter followed. Good. Maybe he could get out of this one with a whole skin. “But I regretted it by the time I got to the Winners’ Christmas tree.”

“Is that where Diana -” Katie cut herself off when she saw the speed with which the colour drained from H’s face. He nodded numbly. “I really need to have a talk with that girl.” Katie mumbled.

“Yeah, me too.” The Yuy siblings smirked. Zechs and Sieben chuckled.

H sighed shakily. “I fell down the chimney and one thing let to another. That woman -”

“ _Those_ wo _men_ , sir.” Katie corrected him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her brother and cousins put an excessive amount of hands over her mouth and hissed for her to shut up. H saw his mental image of Saint Katerina in a white gown, cradling a dove in her hands and beautiful wings sprouting from her back, gain a set of elegant but razor-sharp horns, for some reason.

“I’m quite alright, my dear. No need to worry, Rashid took care of my head...” he mumbled, but not lowly enough not to rouse another round of snorting. “And now I’m here. And Odin, I have noticed, already pilfered your presents when I came to pick up my equipment, so that’s all for tonight.” H concluded.

“That’s all you have to say, Hugh?” Zechs asked, incredulously.

“Hm. You know guys, I think we’d have gotten a better story if we’d asked Uncle Triton’s pet lion.” Sieben said sceptically.

“Have you been to Mariemaia, Victoria, Lokai and Ares yet, Uncle H?” Katie asked suddenly.

“Huh? ...oh, Author!”(1) H squeaked despairingly. The night was all but spent, there was no way for him to get to the Kushrenada household before sunrise. J was going to kill him. Then another thought struck H, and he nearly peed his red pants. _NOOOOOOO! No more ballet lessons, Mr. Treize! Please, no more!_

Odin, Katie, Zechs and Sieben were in stitches. H was in hysterics.

“What are you laughing about?” he wailed, jumping up. “This is a disaster! J and Treize - they’re - they’re -”

“They’ve been taken care of!” Katie laughed. “Didn’t you notice, Uncle H? Odin took their presents along with ours, and we’ve been to Uncle Treize’s house.”

H stared at her. Then at the boys, who were still rolling around with laughter (“Did you see Hank’s face? Priceless!”).

Then he keeled over.

The laughter died down abruptly.

“Hans?”

“Uncle H?”

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Urghlegh... I’m afraid so.” H mumbled while being rolled over onto his back.

“Phew!”

“You had us worried there for a minute, Henrico.”

“I’d like to go home now.”

“All right, sir.”

“Here, let us help you up.”

The suddenly o so considerate young Peacecrafts hoisted H up and helped him sort out his things, while Odin and Katie cleared the sitting room of the dishes, candy wrappers and other leftovers of their little party, and put out the fire.

“Do you want us to call a cab, Heath?”

“We could ask Pagan to bring you home, if you don’t feel up to it.”

“No thank you. I have a chauffeured vehicle waiting for me outside, courtesy of Doctor J. I’ll be fine, you go off to bed now, before anyone notices.”

“They won’t, Uncle H! I sweet talked my way into the kitchen and put the grinded pills in Dad and Uncle Milliardo’s food myself!”

_O, Katie thou too?_ H thought as he looked at her proud expression. “All right then. See you kids at the New Year’s party.”

“Bye Uncle H!”

“Goodbye, sir.”

“Bye.”

“See ya, Heidi.”

The children snuck upstairs - H noted they hadn’t drugged their mothers - and H smiled a little. Nothing like a good scare to bring them back into line. He turned away and walked out of the room.

“That little trick worked out well.”

And nearly had a heart attack.

“Miss Relena!” he exclaimed, clutching at his heart.

“Oh, just Relena will do.” she said. Relena smiled as she stepped from the shadows. He was very sorry, but ‘just Relena’ would not do for H to address a former Queen of the world, former Vice Foreign Minister of Earth and current Queen and representative of the Sank Kindom, even when she stood before him in a bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers, with her hair mussed and looking positively exhausted.

“How long have you been here, Miss?”

“ _It’s Relena._ Heero passed out an hour or so ago, and I’ve been keeping an eye out for the kids - and catching my breath - ever since. I thought it was a little suspicious. Guess I was right.” H saw her blush slightly as she pulled the bathrobe more tightly around her.

H didn’t understand, but he nodded politely. “If you say so, Miss Relena.”

“Thank you for all your kind efforts tonight, Instructor. Is there anything at all I could do for you?”

“No, thank you. There really is a car waiting for me outside.”

“Okay. Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll warn Pagan. You just go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”

_Observant little lady._ “Thank you, Miss Relena. So do you, if I may be so bold.”

Relena smiled and blushed. “Indeed. I’ll have to thank Katie... Goodnight, sir.”

“Good night.”

She shook his hand and walked away. H noticed her steps were somewhat unsteady.

H sought his way out of the palace, thinking: _What kind of pills did Katie put in her father’s food to do that to her_ mother?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zechs - Milliardo and Noin’s firstborn son, named after his father’s alias. Sechs is the German word for ‘six’.  
> Sieben - Milliardo and Noin’s second son. Sieben is the German word for ‘seven’.  
> Katrina ‘Katie’ - Odin’s younger sister. Named after Relena’s biological (grand?)mother.  
> Diana - Roman Goddess of the hunt.  
> The infamous hereditary 01/06 quarrels - Heero versus Zechs Merquise/Milliardo Peacecraft speaks for itself. Odin (Germanic/Norse one-eyed god of wisdom and war) and Zechs (see above) carry on the tradition of wanting to blow each other up one minute, backing each other up for the common - ahem - good the other. With relish.  
> Meiran - Wufei and Sally’s firstborn daughter. Named after Wufei’s first wife, who died when they were both only fourteen.  
> Victoria - The first daughter of Lady Une, Treize’s second. Roman goddess of victory.  
> Lokai - Treize and Lady Une’s oldest son. Derived from Loki, mischievous Germanic/Norse god of fire.  
> Ares - Treize and Lady Une’s youngest son. Greek god of passionate war (as opposite to Minerva, the goddess of smart, intellectual war).  
> Harry, Horace, Hillbilly, Hayden, Hugh, Hank, Hans, Henrico, Heath, Heidi - Since nobody knows what the Freaky Five’s letters stand for, Zechs Peacecraft, among others, has taken up the habit of calling them by a different name starting with that initial every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Prima - Italian, female form of ‘first’.  
> Twey - This is how the Dutch word for ‘two’, twee, would be pronounced in English.  
> Dritten - Drei is German for three, dritte is ‘third’.  
> Quinty - Derived from the Latin word for ‘five’.  
> Octavia - Derived from the Latin word for ‘eight’. (Yes, ALL the Winner children are girls. GOTTA KEEP UP THE TRADITION.)  
> Solo - Duo and Hilde’s first born son.  
> Hell’s Twins - Helen and Helga Maxwell, Solo’s younger sisters (twins).  
> ‘Young’ Odin - Heero and Relena’s firstborn son.  
> Triton Bloom Jr. - Trowa’s firstborn son.
> 
> Comments on older fics will ALWAYS remain welcome.


End file.
